


Fancy

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:33:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25210198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Noctis delays sleep for a couple minutes.
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 13
Kudos: 74





	Fancy

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Gladiolus is out cold, and Noctis is instantly jealous of that—he’s usually the first one to hit anything even remotely soft and drift right off to sleep. It’s been too long since they got a proper room in a motel, and the mattress he climbs onto is _ridiculously tempting_. While Gladiolus takes up the entirety of one single bed, Noctis crowds onto the second, scooting up by the headboard and wriggling under the covers. The sound of water running through old pipes starts up—Prompto’s in the washroom. Ignis is in the middle of the tiny room, cast in starlight alone, and that’s what keeps Noctis’ heavy eyelids up. He wants to sleep, but he also doesn’t want to miss the show. He always misses it at camp. All stuffed into the same dog-pile, they can barely do more than wriggle out of shoes and jackets. In the sanctity and space of their rented room, they can finally strip down. 

Prompto’s probably butt naked, because he must be having a shower, and that’s a nice thought. Gladiolus didn’t even bother to take his shoes off. Noctis slipped out of his boots and nothing else. Ignis is the most _proper_ of all of them—if he could, Noctis knows he’d be removing absolutely _everything_ before carefully climbing into a pair of silk and lace pajamas. Then he’d slip into his neatly made bed, smooth the covers over himself, and sleep like some staged painting: the picture of luxury. The best he can do on the road is strip down to his underwear and settle under the rumpled covers of the cheapest bed available. 

That’s good enough for Noctis. He slumps down like it’s no big deal, like he’s not totally fixated on Ignis’ slender figure only a few arms’ lengths away. He watches Ignis gracefully shed his jacket and drape it over the only chair in the room. Ignis does _everything_ with grace; he’s a ballerina even when he thinks no one is watching. He can probably feel Noctis’ eyes on him, but he doesn’t look over. It’s not like Noctis showing sudden, silent interest in his beauty is anything new. He begins on the buttons of his purple shirt, working each one open so slowly that it’s torture.

A yawn bubbles up in Noctis’ throat, but he swallows it down. He doesn’t want to miss a moment and doesn’t want to draw attention to himself: all the attention should be on his advisor. He doesn’t actually mind that Ignis’ melodic movements are achingly slow. He might not get to see this again for a week or even more—he wants to savour every second. On that last button, Ignis draws the fabric open, exposing a long, lean patch of pale skin lightly dusted with the imprints of muscle—Ignis has always been in peak physical condition. Ignis lets the shirt tumble down his shoulders, and it joins the jacket. 

Ignis’ fingers catch on his fly, and his eyes flicker up, piercing Noctis right to the headboard. Noctis steadily meets that gaze. The hint of a smile flickers at the corner of Ignis’ lips, but nothing more—not the searing look he might’ve given Noctis back at home. Gladiolus isn’t _that_ sound a sleeper. Prompto won’t be in the shower forever. And Noctis is dead tired but _hungry._

Ignis must know that. He probably thinks Noctis should already be asleep. Maybe that’s why he murmurs, “Look away, Noct.”

Like in so many things, Noctis ignores him. He nods towards Ignis’ crotch: a silent command to keep going. 

Ignis sighs and unzips himself. He unbuckles the belt and slides both down his legs at once—Noctis’ breath catches at the sudden flash of _Ignis’ bare legs._ It shouldn’t get to him the way it does. Ignis just has _great legs._ Great everything. He steps out of his pants to fold them and sets them on the chair, left in nothing but black briefs that are sucked tight against his skin. Noctis’ throat is dry. He wants to order Ignis to turn the lights on so Noctis can see it _properly_. Maybe it would be better if Ignis just came closer. He bends down, reaching for the thick garters that hold his socks up. 

“Stop.”

Ignis freezes, glancing over and lifting one ash-brown brow. Noctis swallows and says, “Keep them on.” He’s always liked those. At least, he does on Ignis. There’s nothing inherently erotic about the black straps that rest just beneath Ignis’ knees, the v-shaped attachments on the side or the little metal fasteners, but there’s just something about the way they hold Ignis’ socks so straight and the way they sit so snugly against his skin. It’s like a form of lingerie—something intimate that only Noctis gets to see. Noctis has no idea if they’re comfortable or not but doesn’t care. If he can’t take them off Ignis’ legs with his teeth, then no one’s going to take them off—Ignis is going to parade around in them for his king’s inappropriate amusement. 

The final piece is Ignis’ glasses. He plucks them from his handsome face as he wanders around the side of the bed. He sleeps with Gladiolus as often as Noctis, maybe even more with Prompto, but the way Gladiolus has draped himself across the mattress has decided the sleeping arrangements for the rest of them. Prompto’s going to have a hell of a time squeezing in. Ignis comes to the side of the bed that Noctis is on and asks, “May I sleep here, Your Highness?”

A shiver runs down Noctis’ spine. Even Ignis doesn’t often call him that anymore. But Ignis always know just what to purr in Noctis’ ear to get him going. Noctis mumbles, “Iggy...”

Ignis bends down. A gentle kiss brushes across Noctis’ forehead, long fingers sweeping his messy bangs aside. He’s tempted to tilt up for a _real_ kiss, but then he’ll want his tongue in Ignis’ throat and his hands all over Ignis’ body, and he just doesn’t have the energy. Ignis seems to understand, because he promises against Noctis’ temple, “I’ll still be here in the morning.”

Maybe they can send the other two out for supplies. Or have them stay and watch. Noctis doesn’t even care. He just wants to sleep curled up to Ignis like they used to do in his apartment before he learned he’d been sold to someone else. 

Ignis gives him a little pat, and Noctis obediently shuffles over. Ignis climbs in beside him, settling elegantly under the covers. 

Noctis is tangled up with him in seconds and asleep before Prompto’s even back to wriggle onto the other side.


End file.
